Page 4 of A Rational Man (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

O n the twenty-ninth of September, Mr. Darcy’s carriage pulled into Netherfield’s front courtyard.

The coachman leaped down and opened the door for his employer.

Mr. Darcy climbed out and stretched, surveying the house as he did so.

It was a sturdy red brick building, quite modern-looking, with a large number of windows.

The front gardens were well-kept and the driveway clean and raked.

A man, doubtless the butler, stepped outside to welcome him, but he stopped short upon seeing Mr. Darcy. His gaze shot first to the very fine carriage and then back to Mr. Darcy. His brows drew together in confusion.

Mr. Darcy managed not to take umbrage at the man’s bewilderment.

He understood that butlers were trained to recognise a person’s level in society by certain signs, chief among them that person’s means of transportation and clothing, and there was no doubt that Mr. Darcy’s current attire was very much at odds with his very elegant traveling carriage.

The fact of the matter was that Mr. Darcy had traveled without his valet, Franklin.

Sadly, Franklin’s mother had become quite ill; as the only child, Franklin was required to be at her bedside.

On the other hand, he felt that he owed it to his employer to travel south with him.

Mr. Darcy, seeing Franklin’s conflicted loyalties, had put an end to it by ordering Franklin to attend his mother.

“But, sir –“ Franklin had begun to protest.

Mr. Darcy would hear none of it, nor would he accept any substitute for Franklin’s services; as a result, he had traveled alone, wearing clothing that he was able to get into and out of without assistance.

All his tight-fitting “gentlemanly” clothing – the meticulously tailored trousers, shirts, waistcoats and jackets – had been left behind at Pemberley.

Mr. Darcy had brought with him only a small trunk containing the sort of clothing he wore when he was tramping about Pemberley’s fields with no need to impress anyone.

Mr. Darcy would admit only to himself that he was enjoying the opportunity to wear clothing that was so supremely comfortable.

Ignoring the perturbed butler for the moment, he turned to the coachman. “There should be stabling around the back, Ned. Let me know at once if anything is lacking for the comfort of yourself or the horses.”

Ned touched his cap respectfully and climbed back to his perch on top of the carriage.

Mr. Darcy then turned back to the butler, who was now frowning. “I am Mr. Darcy,” he said. “Mr. Bingley was unable to be here, so I have come in his stead.”

The butler’s face cleared at once. “Ah, so that was Mr. Bingley’s carriage,” he said. Before Mr. Darcy could correct him, he went on. “I will have the housekeeper show you to your room.” With that, he turned and began to lead Mr. Darcy into the house.

“And your name is?” Mr. Darcy enquired, speaking to the man’s back.

“I am Mr. Graham.” The butler’s stern voice made it clear that Mr. Darcy should address him with the honorific.

Mr. Darcy opened his mouth to explain who he was – master of Pemberley, nephew of the Earl of Matlock!

– and then closed it. This, he realised at once, was the perfect opportunity for him to take something of a break from the innumerable expectations that accompanied this nephew-of-the-Earl-of-Matlock identity.

It was not whimsy, he assured himself; it was simply a necessary break that would allow him to rest and then perform his duties ever more admirably upon his return to Derbyshire.

It was an important distinction, as Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy frowned upon whimsy.

Mr. Darcy was introduced to Mrs. Nichols, the housekeeper.

Mr. Graham whispered a few words into her ear; she nodded and motioned Mr. Darcy to follow her.

She led him upstairs to a small room with rather old furniture and peeling paper; it was clearly a second-best guest room, or possibly even third-best. Mr. Darcy wondered if he should now explain who he really was, but decided against it.

You have become spoiled, he told himself.

Too accustomed to being made much of, to being fêted and sought out!

A few weeks of anonymity will likely be good for my character, he thought wryly.

He unpacked his belongings, laying the books he had brought with him on his bedside table, with Descarte’s Meditations on First Philosophy on top, and then storing his comfortable clothing in drawers.

When was the last time I unpacked for myself, he wondered.

School, perhaps? Mr. Darcy then made his way downstairs, in time to hear Mr. Graham speaking with another man.

The other man was middle-aged, dressed as might become a business man or an attorney.

Mr. Darcy heard Mr. Graham say, “His attorney, I do not doubt. Or perhaps Mr. Bingley’s man of business. He did not say and I did not feel it necessary to enquire.”

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. The two men turned. Graham looked uncomfortable, knowing he had been overheard. The other man stepped forward and bowed politely. “I am Mr. Phillips,” he said.

“You arranged the lease, I believe?” Mr. Darcy asked, returning the bow.

“I understand that you are here at Mr. Bingley’s request. I would be remiss if I did not ask for some sort of letter from Mr. Bingley…” Mr. Phillips trailed off, his brows raised in question.

“Of course.” Mr. Darcy reached into his pocket and pulled out the note Mr. Bingley had penned. He gave it to Mr. Phillips, who read the brief message aloud.

To Whomever it May Concern:

I authorise Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy to act for me in all matters.

Charles Bingley

“That is rather open-handed, is it not?” Mr. Phillips asked, surprised. “Why, you could empty his bank accounts with this letter.”

“I am afraid to say that this is rather like Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Darcy sighed. “But you need not fear, Mr. Phillips; I will confine my authority to matters having to do with Netherfield Park. Mr. Graham, might you show us to the study?”

When the butler had complied and the two men were seated, Mr. Darcy said, “Now, then, have you the lease papers ready for me?”

“You are familiar with such documents, I imagine?” Mr. Phillips’ tone betrayed his doubts.

“Passably familiar, yes.” Mr. Darcy hoped his voice did not reveal his impatience at such a question, which a man of his standing could only regard as impertinent.

As Mr. Phillips pulled the papers from his satchel, he asked, politely, “I hope Mr. Bingley is not ill?”

“He broke his leg.” Mr. Darcy replied, shortly.

“Oh! I am very sorry to hear that.”

“As was I,” Mr. Darcy said, coolly.

Mr. Phillips passed a sheaf of papers to Mr. Darcy. “I will be happy to explain any unfamiliar terms, Mr. – Darcy, was it?”

“Yes. Fitzwilliam Darcy.” Mr. Darcy felt his body tighten at the slight – as if he was not familiar with the language of leases!

– but then he forced himself to relax. He knew he was being everything absurd; Mr. Phillip’s tone was kind, his manner entirely bereft of insult.

You are not known here, Mr. Darcy reminded himself.

“I shall let you know if I require assistance,” he said.

Mr. Darcy settled back, intending to review the documents carefully.

Bingley tended to be impulsive and did not always pay attention to details, so it was important that Mr. Darcy review the terms of the lease carefully.

“Mr. Bingley may update furnishings, then,” he said, looking at a particular paragraph on the third page.

“Yes, but he is not to remove any of the old furnishings from the house. There is plenty of attic space to store the existing furniture should he choose to redecorate.”

“I understand. And responsibility for the tenant farms passes to Mr. Bingley for the duration of the lease.”

“Correct; and in turn he is entitled to the income from the estate for the duration.”

“I did not see any provisions for the possibility of purchase of the estate,” Mr. Darcy observed, once he had finished reading the papers.

“He did not mention the possibility of purchase,” Mr. Phillips said, brows raised.

“His end goal is to purchase an estate; his lease of Netherfield is a trial to see if he likes estate living. Perhaps a clause may be added giving Mr. Bingley the right of first refusal, should the owners choose to sell?”

“Easily done,” Mr. Phillips said. “I know the owners would not object to selling the place. I will add that language and return to you tomorrow, if that suits you, Mr. Darcy.”

Mr. Darcy agreed. The two men then toured the house, with Mr. Phillips interjecting comments about the house’s history and its past tenants. At the end of the tour, Mr. Phillips said, “Mr. Bingley chose his agent wisely.”

“Thank you, Mr. Phillips.”

Mr. Phillips handed Mr. Darcy a set of keys and promised to return the next day at the same time.